Hellion, a New Adult Romance Novel (The Rebel Series) Read Online Free PDF Page B

daughter.   My sisters are back to giggling.
    I wish the floor would open up and just suck me into a giant sink-hole right now.   It’s like I’m fifteen again.   I hate living at home.   I have to move out, like really soon.   I wonder if my parents would let me take Jersey with me.
    “Well, not very long actually.   I met her at my brother’s garage the first time and then again at a club a few weeks ago where I work.   And her friend Teagan is dating my brother, so I see her around.”
    “A club, huh?”   My dad has stopped serving himself.   “And what kind of club would that be?”
    “Yeah, what kind of club would that be, Quin?” asks Shasta.   “A strip club?”
    “Dad,” I drop my fork on the table, “could we not give him the third degree about my life?   If you want to know what I’m doing when I’m not here, just ask me.”   I don’t even going to look at my sister or acknowledge her comment.   That’ll just throw gas on her teasing fire.   Besides, I’m going to give her a nuclear wedgie later when Mick’s gone to straighten her out.
    “Hey, hey, no need to get all sensitive over it.   I was just asking the boy a question.”
    Mick is looking at me; I can sense his gaze on the side of my face.   But I can’t return the gesture. Our lips would be just inches apart and I’d probably do something really stupid with that kind of temptation so near.
    “Let’s change the subject,” I suggest.   “How was work?”
    “Same old, same old…”   My father goes on to detail the latest drama at the electric company where he works, and it all turns into one giant droning sound in my brain.
    I’m casually eating a burrito, conscious of every movement Mick makes next to me.   He’s not shy about digging in, a fact that’ll make my mom deliriously happy.   She’s one of those people who equates food with love, which explains why my ass is almost an axe-handle wide.   Thank God my actual waist is immune to caloric intake.
    My mother is responding to something my father said when Mick’s bare arm rubs up against mine.
    Deep breaths.   It’s no big deal.   Just act like nothing’s up.
    I keep eating, but then it happens again.   And again.   I can hear my heartbeat in my own ears.   Is he doing it on purpose?   Does he feel it like I do?
    He leans over and whispers in my ear.   “Can you pass the hot sauce, please?”
    “Ew, hot sauce,” says Shasta.   “I like mild salsa.”
    “Mild is for quitters,” Olympia says.
    The two of them commence a minor girl-slap fight, but Mick ignores all of it.   He’s staring at me as he waits for me to comply with his request.
    Holy hot sauce.   Breathe, Quin, breathe.   I reach my arm out like a shot and knock the bottle over in my haste.   “Oh, fuck,” I say as the cap flies off and lands in my sister’s plate.
    “Hey, language, Quinlan,” my mom says, frowning.   My sisters high-five each other.   Jersey’s tapping the bottom of his fork on the table to some rhythm only he can hear as he stares off into nothingness.
    “Sorry.”   I hand the bottle to Mick.
    He wraps his whole hand around it, trapping mine against the glass container.
    I turn quick and open my mouth to complain, but he’s smiling and his mouth is just two inches from mine.   “Nervous about something?” he asks, flicking his eyebrows up once.
    I yank my hand away.   “No.   Should I be?”   I take a bite of beans, acting like I’m not having a heart attack right here at the dinner table.
    My family is so busy arguing about which is better, mild or hot salsa, that nobody notices I’m being freaked out and messed with by a true master player.   Mick is just plain dangerous.   I seriously underestimated his skills.
    “Maybe you should be. Depends.” His leg brushes up against mine, and I both hate and love the fact that I chose to wear shorts today.
    “Shut up,” I whisper under my breath.   I’m about to give him a heavy dose